Charlotte assured her friend that she took no offence, as none was intended, and insisted that the news of the new child, which was hardly unexpected, was cause for congratulation, even if it did cause her some pain. ‘But I would rather have that remembrance than nothing. Where we have once loved, there will always be a tender spot. But we must strive to be rational, and to look forward with hope.’

The party broke up soon afterwards, and that night Charlotte found herself afflicted by her old tormentor – sleeplessness and the accompanying hot itching that had subsided since she had come to Pemberley. Her own words to Elizabeth notwithstanding, it was hard to be rational in the face of the twin burdens of grief and wakefulness, and she found herself wetting with tears a pillow that seemed to have turned to stone. This in turn meant that the next day began with a leaden sensation in her heart and limbs, as if she was on the verge of a headache.

Sarah, who had been much struck by her sister’s accounts of the delights of Georgiana’s chambers, now declared that she would like a turn to watch the piano man at work. And so, once again, Charlotte found herself knocking at a door, holding a child by the hand, requesting admittance. This time she was sure of her welcome, and indeed the musician ushered them in with every indication of pleasure at their company.

Sarah soon spied Georgiana’s books and hung over them longingly, eventually requesting permission to look at a translated copy of the French fairy tale, Beauty and the Beast. After checking that her daughter’s hands were clean and that the work, along with its illustrations, was indeed suitable for a child, Charlotte agreed. Sarah took herself and her new treasure across the room into the window embrasure, where she curled up behind the curtains and gave herself over to a fantastical world.

Once her daughter was settled, Herr Rosenstein turned to Charlotte with great compunction: ‘Frau Collins, I am afraid that you are not well. You look pale.’

Charlotte confessed that she had slept little the previous night, and was now troubled by the beginnings of a headache.

‘I hope no disturbing accounts from home were responsible for your troubled night. It seemed that neither you nor Frau Darcy were quite easy yesterday evening.’

‘Oh! All is well at Hunsford, I assure you. No, it was the news of Mrs Bingley’s safe delivery and the new child. Joyous as it was, it – it brought back memories.’